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Maggie.
    â€œI have a couple of tricks in mind,” said Mr. Pin mysteriously. “But we’ll need the truckers to surround the diner.”
    â€œRight,” said Maggie. “I’ll ask Hank to bring ice cream and have the truckers here by midnight.”
    â€œAren’t the truckers in their trucks now?” asked Mr. Pin.
    â€œI’ll call them on my CB,” said Maggie, running up the back stairs two at a time.
    Mr. Pin hopped up after Maggie. In a small room on a desk next to a gerbil cage was a CB radio and microphone. Because there was an antenna on the roof, Maggie could talk to the truckers while they were on the road.
    Maggie picked up the microphone. “Breaker 1-9, this is Orphan Annie. That’s my radio name. Hank, we need ice cream fast. Preferably chocolate. Lots of it, too. It’s an emergency.”
    â€œThat’s a roger, Annie,” came the call. “But right now my truck is stuck in a snowbank and there’s a blizzard on the way.”
    â€œRoger, Hank,” said Maggie. “But some gangsters said they’d blow up the diner at midnight unless Sally could get them money. Sally can’t, so we need ice cream for a trap, and we need trucks to surround the diner.”
    â€œWe all want to help,” radioed George. “But we’re all stuck out on the highway. Roads are closed. A semi is jackknifed. And the diner here doesn’t have cinnamon rolls.”
    â€œOh, dear!” said Maggie.
    Mr. Pin hopped up on Maggie’s desk and grabbed the mike. “All right, truckers. This is Detective Pin. Sally really needs your help. Now just stick together and don’t give up.”
    Maggie manned the radio while Mr. Pin hopped down the stairs and worked on the trap. First he hammered two chairs onto the wall above the door. Then he balanced two buckets on top of the chairs. Next he tied two pieces of rope onto the handles of the buckets. When he pulled the rope, the buckets tipped down, just over the doorway.
    Outside the wind howled and the snow pounded into the glass windows. Mr. Pin was worried.
    â€œAny news?” asked Mr. Pin when Maggie came down for dinner.
    â€œThe trucks are still stuck,” was all she said. She grabbed a plateful of sandwiches and hurried back upstairs to her CB.
    It was almost midnight. Still no ice cream and still no truckers.
    The phone rang.
    â€œHello,” said Maggie.

    â€œYou got the money?” snarled Mac. He thought it was Sally.
    â€œNo problem,” said Maggie.
    â€œNo tricks, lady. We’ll be there at midnight,” said Mac.
    â€œRight,” said Maggie.
    Click.
    Maggie came running down the stairs, yelling, “Mr. Pin, no ice cream, no truckers, and the gansters are coming at midnight.”
    Hank stormed in. “I just got out of that snowbank and I have a truckload of chocolate-chocolate-chip ice cream.”
    â€œHurray!” shouted Maggie. “But we don’t have much time.”
    Not minding the cold, Mr. Pin used his beak to open the ice cream and his wings to scoop it into the buckets. He dumped what was left into a huge mountain on the floor.
    â€œLooks like home,” said Mr. Pin.
    â€œAll we need now is hot fudge,” said Maggie.
    It was midnight.
    The diner was dark.
    The trap was set.
    But where were the truckers?
    Several black limos crunched to a stop on the newly plowed street.

    The door creaked open. Black shoes glinted in the street light.
    Several dark figures filled the doorway. Maggie shivered. Mac had brought his whole gang of thugs!
    â€œPull the ropes!” shouted Mr. Pin.
    â€œFreeze, you thugs!” shouted Maggie. They could do little else. Gallons and gallons of ice cream avalanched onto the gangsters.
    Splat. Plop . “Brrrrrrr!” they chattered.
    Rope in beak, Mr. Pin tobogganed down the ice-cream mountain and tied up the sputtering, struggling thugs.
    But he couldn’t tie them fast enough. Some of